


Nothing To It

by CaptainJimothyCarter



Series: Winterhawk Bingo [16]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Betting, Bucky gets embarassed, Clint hates fair games, Clint hates the fair, Competition, M/M, Shooting Competition, Shooting Guns, WinterHawk Bingo, clintbucky - Freeform, steve is a dick, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter
Summary: The only reason Clint went to the fair was that Bucky becomes an overexcited child when it comes to the bright lights and fried foods. The real reason that Clint hates the fair is not from the reminder of his past, it's more of the idea of these cheap games that are rigged and stealing from kids and their parents. He wants to put an end to this and no better place to start than putting your skills to the test.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: Winterhawk Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891774
Kudos: 49
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	Nothing To It

**Author's Note:**

> For Winterhawk Bingo: Shooting Competition

If anyone was to blame, it would be Sam and Steve for even inviting them to this silly fall fair that the state always threw. Clint liked to avoid the fairs for good reason, it brought back memories of the circus he’d like to avoid. Plus, spending time in an overpriced, overcrowded sectioned off area of the countryside was not his idea of a good time. Yet, how could he say no when Bucky’s eyes lit up like that? The soft specs of green and blue amongst the sea of gray stood out when his face lit up in excitement.

All because Sam had mentioned the goddamn fair and Steve had asked them if they wanted to go.

He couldn’t be that asshole who said no and crushed his boyfriend’s feelings, now could he? Besides, it could be fun to see Bucky be a complete idiot. He deserved to be an idiot sometimes.

“Are you  _ sure  _ you’re okay coming here with me? No one will blame you if you wanted to go home, Clint.” Bucky asked him for the fifth time that day. First, it was this morning after breakfast, then in the shower, the elevator, the drive over, and now. 

He got it, Bucky was concerned, but c’mon, he’d be fine.

Shrugging his shoulders, Clint gave that trademark Barton smile and slung his arm around the shorter brunette’s shoulders. “And miss out on you binge eating cotton candy, popcorn, and corn dogs? Not a chance.”

Bucky had this way of looking at him that made Clint feel like he was the moon and the stars. That he was his boyfriend’s only shining light amongst a sky of darkness. Sometimes it made him uncomfortable as he laid his head on his shoulder and looked up at him like that, but today? Today it just made him smile in content and pause in their step [and in the process annoying a couple behind them] to kiss Bucky on the lips.

“Thank you for being concerned, Bucky but I promise I’m okay. It doesn’t bother me  _ that  _ much, alright? Just a few...uncomfortable feelings, but if it gets loud or the music is too much, I’ll take the hearing aids out, alright?”

It’s the least he could do to ensure that his boyfriend could have the time of his life. Besides, it’s not every day you see a once Hydra-puppet go all google-eyed at the bright lights, cheap rides, and squealing kids.

Long as he didn’t try to get him up on that cheap Ferris Wheel, Clint was golden.

* * *

“Is that your fifth corndog?” Sam asked, the concern but more disgust in his voice evident as he looked at Bucky across the sticky picnic table. “Where are you storing those?”

“Don’t you know?” Clint mused, swirling the cheap beer around in a plastic cup. “He’s part goat.” Bucky’s look and Sam’s barking laughter made the blonde just laugh even more. Even as Bucky elbowed him gently in his side. “What? They have multiple compartments in their stomach! You love baby goats.”

“Except Rammy,” Steve mused and whatever - whoever - Rammy was, it made Bucky throw a look at Steve too. This time it was one that clearly said  _ do not say it.  _

That’s what he got for stuffing a whole corndog in his mouth and mimicked a hampster. 

“Whose Rammy?” It was Sam who asked, so technically Bucky couldn’t get mad at Clint for it. “You gotta tell us now, Steve.”

Steve took all too long to chew the bite of corn dog - his sixth if Sam was counting and he was. It was enough for Bucky to swallow admittingly painfully and drained Clint’s beer in three gulps. “Do  _ not  _ mention Rammy! I  _ told  _ Howard…”

_ “Oh, _ so it’s all Howard’s fault?” Sam’s eyes were lit up with eccentric energy that could even challenge the late genius.

“We still ain’t quite sure  _ how  _ Howard come to own a goat during a war, but he did. A mean lil’ shit that would ram anyone near it.  _ Anyone _ . Anything. He’d leave dents and knock people off their feet just because he didn’t like how close you got to him. Even tried Peggy once until she threatened to turn his skin into a nice pair of boots before he got the hint. He’d leave dents in vehicles, my  _ bike,  _ loved to try to hit the shield. The only thing he didn’t get all mean with was Bucky - he  _ loved  _ Bucky.”

Bucky groaned, turning a shade of green and staring down at the fries-filled basket. “Steve shut the fuck up.”

_ “ _ For some reason, Howard wouldn’t let the thing go, I think because Rammy was soft for Bucky. Rammy would sit there happily to let Bucky take care of it and love it. We came back to camp one night to find that a Sargeant Barnes had gotten drunk off of a secret stash and was cuddling with Rammy in his bed. The only thing he ever did love was Bucky until Howard sold him to some farm a few weeks later.”

Bucky’s face turned a shade of purple in his embarrassing state, stomping away from the table as Clint and Sam roared with laughter. 

“You’re a dick, Steve. It was  _ cold!”  _ he countered, a pout on his full lips. “Not everyone had your super-hero serum bullshit heat.”

* * *

“Sam is gonna never let that go,” Bucky sighed, more quietly pouting into Clint’s chest as they slowly walked through the strands of lights around them. He reached up to quietly tuck a strand of hair behind Clint’s ear, in the process turning the aid down a little bit more so the volume would match the other.

Clint was thankful, it was getting difficult to focus on both talking and walking with the loud  _ carnival  _ music coming from some god-awful ride. It still made him cringe. 

“What? About Rammy?” He flinched when Bucky winced at how loud he was speaking, always taking a second to adjust his volume. “C’mon, Buck, it was just a joke. I know you’re not gonna leave me for a goat.”

“Dunno, Rammy smelled better than you.” He snorted when Clint rolled his eyes, pulling his tall boyfriend down for a heavy kiss on the lips. The way he held Clint just told the blonde how relieved he was to be here with him.

“Rude,” he grumbled. 

“You still love me.” 

Without even looking, Clint could hear the grin in Bucky’s voice. All he could do was sigh and let his shoulders sag, pressing a soft kiss to the man’s temple. “Hm. I do.”

The night was wearing down, but it didn’t mean the crowd was, if anything it was even more crowded. More families than drunks, thankfully. Clint stood, leaning against a light pole, and watched a little girl run excitedly up towards one of those overly priced fair games. This one involved a pistol and shooting at moving targets. The targets would stop and pick up speed at random, having no exact movement. All of it, Clint knew was rigged. Those very guns were delayed in their release of the ammunition, no matter how often true your shot was.

Stupid, ridiculous scams that played kids for their money. It made him sick. 

The gun was twice her size and she looked so awkward holding it, barely able to support it on her shoulder. His mouth opened, to say something to her or maybe the attendant but there was no point - the little one was already trigger happy and shooting in all directions within the range. Unsurprisingly, not one hit their target even if she had pretty good aim with the barrel.

The disappointed look on her face caused his stomach to twist in a blinding flash of anger towards these games. They were all rigged, took advantage of kids who didn’t know it when all they wanted were the cheap toys.

“Uh oh,” Bucky breathed, seeing the scowl on Clint’s face once he emerged from the bathroom. “What happened now?”

Clint grunted, head bobbing towards the gun range, watching the attendant happily tend to the rifle like it was some prized weapon. “He stole that girl’s money - gave her a dirty rifle that ain’t even working right.”

Hearing the words carry across the field, the man looked up, locking eyes with both Clint and Bucky. His grin didn’t quite meet his eyes as he waved the gun in their direction. 

“I kno’ you twos!” He pointed the barrel at Bucky’s chest as they approached, the brunette grunting as he shoved it away from them with a look. “You’re part of there-that team!”

“Watch it, buddy,” Bucky growled, squeezing the barrel to the point he could’ve easily crushed it between his fingers. “You don’t need to swing that around and accidentally hurt someone, do yah? And yeah - what of it?”

“Youse there that...Weiner Soldier.” Clint snorted hard at the man’s description of Bucky, earning a look from Bucky. “And you’se are that...that Bird Boy.” It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, making Clint’s ears turn red.

“Yeah, and?” Clint grumbled, rolling his eyes. “What? You got a complaint or something against us? Or are you trying to see who else you can steal money from?”

A look flashed in the man’s eyes, shoving the rifle into their chests. “Says you. That lil gal kne’ what she was doin’. Ain’t my fault hers parents don’t care nothing about money. You that worked up about some cheap prizes?”

“I’m that worked up about you stealin’ money from an innocent girl. Ain’t -”

Clint’s words were cut off by Bucky laying a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going off. He cleared his throat and pushed his taller boyfriend to the side, gripping the counter in a tight grip and glaring at the attendant. “Proposition: If my boyfriend and I win at your stupid game, then you shut this stand down for the remainder of your stay.”

“And...we get all your toys,” Clint added.

“Twose of the best-claimed marksmen?” Clint swore if this guy had any sort of hair on his body, he’d be twirling a mustache at this point. “Fine. When you lose you both owes me a hundred bucks - each  _ and  _ you let me record ya sayin’ how you two failed a simple kiddies game.”

Sharing a look, both Clint and Bucky held a silent conversation between them with just their eyes moving. Bucky was the one to turn around, metal hand squeezing the life out of the attendant’s so it turned purple

_ “Great!”  _ The attendant grinned and was practically giddy. “Off you two go then.”

In reality, Clint wanted to knock the guy aside the head with the butt of the gun, steal the toys, and leave. It wasn’t about the toys that pissed him off, it was the fact this guy took advantage of kids and  _ enjoyed  _ it. Someone had to put him in his place and why shouldn’t it be them? They had the skills - even if this jerkwad was going to make it impossible.

_ “Hey,”  _ Bucky mused, nudging Clint’s shoulder to draw him out of his thought. He nodded towards the net that held the cheap stuffed animals to the ceiling. “Gonna win you that one, baby.”

Clint knew which one he had his eye on amongst the mass of toys - the god awful overly fluffed  _ bird.  _ From this perspective with the yellow beak and blue eyes, it looked like the manufacturers tried to aim for a dove but what they ended up with was this God-awful cross between a city pigeon and a dove. That’s fine, because no matter the monstrosity that was that toy, there was the one that Clint saw for Bucky.

He smirked as he nudged the man’s shoulder back, nodding his head towards the opposite side of the giant gorilla. A goat. A matted looking thing with horns that curled back and yellow eyes that made the thing look demented. “I think I’ll name it Rammy Two,” He snorted, much to Bucky rolling his eyes.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I don’t. Fine, Bird-Boy, when I win, you get to tell Sam and Steve about how you even considered the name  _ Hawkeye  _ for yourself.”

Clint’s face flushed a bright shade of pink, Bucky touching a nerve inside of him. The man knew it too because he grinned from ear to ear as he picked up the toy gun again, squeezing it in his fingers.    
  
“Asshole,” the blonde grumbled, focusing on his weapon now. He had to do both - outshoot Bucky and not fall for these frustrating tactics of the game’s sabotage.

Should be easy. After all, he never missed.

He watched Bucky go first, watching the man raised the gun to his shoulder height and concentrate on the moving targets. Ridiculously old, painted scarecrows flashed across a screen. They moved far too fast for any normal person to hit them, add in the delayed response of the trigger and it was near impossible.

Not for them.

Bucky’s breathing slowed until he held his breath. The world around them closed down to a still stop. The trigger was pulled and the attendant grinned until they heard the solid  _ plunk  _ of metal hitting metal. One scarecrow fell and Bucky was already smug.

At least the attendant’s smile was wiped off his face.

_ “Beginner’s luck,” he grumbled.  _

“No,” Clint replied in a dead-pan tone. “Years of being Hydra’s puppet put to better use. AIn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I’m working, darling.”

“Call me that again.” 

He could’ve sword Bucky smiled, just a twitch of his lips on his stoic face. The thought lost when another scarecrow fell with a harder thunk and this time the attendant started to look flustered. His flustered look grew into something of panic by the time Bucky had knocked all but one scarecrow down. 

“You missed,” he mumbled to Bucky, still sweating from his temples. 

The once-assassin shrugged. “I still won. You didn’t say how many targets we had to hit, that we just had to win.” His head tipped towards the sign, stating how many targets hit per game meant what prize. “All Clint has to do is hit all your targets, buddy and we’re done here. Unless you wanna give up?”

“No way!” Clint whined, snatching the gun and looking at Bucky with the biggest puppy-dog eyes he could manage. “I get to put the asshole in his place too.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Just as he had thought, the gun was terrible in his hands. He didn’t like guns per se, but he’d use them. He could make them work, especially in a throwing-when-out-of-bullets situation, but this? This was just a shit-show on a fucking stick. Dangerous to the public with no real income but wasted money and missing an eye.

Still, an asshole was an asshole and Clint was gonna put the dickhead in his place.

Gripping at the gun again, he blocked out Bucky’s noisy breathing and the alcohol on the guy’s breath. His breathing slowly stabled, slowing down until he could feel his heart slowing down. The world around him melted until it was just the clear sight of him and the target.

Each turn of the ridiculous scarecrows lasted maybe point five seconds before they were waddling back across his vision. The scarecrows were janky and ‘walked’ with jerking movements that made them even harder to hit. Pulling on the trigger left much to be desired, given how it was broken and gave way far too easy. He had to pull hard and to the right to even get it to fire.

The first one fell with ease, right in the head. He ignored Bucky’s jaunting yells, focusing on the second one just behind it. Smaller. Moving even faster than the last. Its movements were just as jerking, almost stuttering when it came back around the fourth time. That’s when he pulled the trigger. Even harder now. It was almost stiff. The second one fell with a satisfying  _ plonk. _

Without even looking up, he knew the attendant was starting to nervously sweat. He could see shaking hands in his visual field, the nervousness in his movements as he set up his third target. This one moved slower than all of them but its movements were the worst. He fell, stuttered, stalled, picked back up, and was twice as small as the last one.

That was fine. Even as the gun felt almost hot in hand, the trigger not responding the first time he pulled it. That was fine too because when it fell in its little session to ‘hide’ behind the hay barrels, he didn’t get back up. Clint smirked at the attendant too.

The fourth one fell just as well, smaller, but not as jerking. The fifth one was what Bucky missed. It was three times as small, barely larger than a quarter. It jerked and stalled and fell in a rapid session that made it impossible to track. Unless you knew what to look for, the odd hay barrel rising from random spots to distract and hide the scarecrow. The gun was the worst part. It was shaking by now, the trigger not responding unless he jerked the gun and by jerking it, he missed his target.

All he had to do was calculate. 

The blonde held his breath as he waited, watching the scarecrow dance in his vision. The air around them was starting to get colder, the music around them louder. An announcement sounded for something about beer-call. The distraction of the noise was perfect, the trigger pulled in the right session as the scarecrow moved to pull out from the hay barrel that was to fly out to block him. It hit the thing right between the eyes, knocking him down with one solid plonk.

Bucky was grinning from ear to ear, kissing Clint show-offing and noisy on the cheek as the attendant turned a shade of purple.

“A deal is a deal,” Clint reminded him with a shit-eating grin. “Shut this shit down and give us those toys. I got a little girl who deserves her monkey.”

The monkey and its companion of a Khola were shoved into Clint’s arms, the monkey was almost as big as he was. He left Bucky to deal with the pissed attendant, jogging back over to where he saw the little girl and her baby brother pouting on the benches.

It was nothing to it, giving them the items and shrugging his shoulders when they thanked him over and over again, jumping up and down. He found himself being hugged around his legs, laughing as he ruffled at their hair. 

Nothing to it, he said yet again because there wasn’t. He hated bullies as much as anyone did but he could put them in their places in a manner that really hurt their wallet sometimes.

Besides, the best part of this was giving out the ridiculous amount of toys to exciting, little kids and watching them clutch prizes that were twice as big as their torso. All while, knowing his boyfriend was putting the attendant in his place. 

Finding Bucky waiting by the entrance, with the god-awful dove and hawk under one arm, Clint had a sense of relief as he jogged up to his boyfriend. “I thought you would’ve given away the goat, claim some kid wanted him.”

“Nah, they were interested in whatever half the hell the other stuff was. You ready?” Tossing the dove at Clint’s chest, he still wore that proud grin when Clint caught it and turned it over in his hands. This thing was no prize-winning pretty boy, but he was pretty cute. 

“Admit it, you love Rammy Two,” Clint teased, throwing an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and kissing his cheek.

“Never,” Bucky scoffed. “Rammy will live on in infamy.”


End file.
